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Mental Illness and Self-Loathing … An Antisocial Perspective

I realize that I am far from the prototypical psychopath; for that I am grateful. I have my freedom and my status in society by remaining undetected and by slinking through the shadows. I am not prototypical in large part because I choose restraint – a topic that I have written about innumerable times at this point. However, the act of restraint does not quiet the antisocial mind. It grows hungrier and thirstier, wishing that it could validate its own existence by the pints of blood that its body could collect. And, it grows more aware of its presence in a world that claims to be prosocial. The psyche realizes that it is utterly alone by necessity and turns to self-loathing. Why would anyone choose to be blessed with a gift that can never be used? Why have a mouth if one cannot feed?

I do not wish to imply that this psychic dilemma is one shared by many other psychopaths – but it is one that is common with other forms of mental illness. The Borderline often wishes she was less tumultuous with her relationships – knowing that it is unlikely that such will ever come to fruition. The Bipolar wish that they could reach stability so that their jobs were not on the line with each downturn or surge. Those who are not neurotypical – used here to mean ‘functionally healthy in mind’ rather than non-psychopathic – clamour for the ability to blend in with the crowd and to be known for their individuality rather than their illnesses. The realization that this is not the case – and never will be – leads to self-loathing.

There is danger in this self-loathing. When I am self-loathing, I regard myself as having no worth. I regard my struggles as insurmountable even as my megalomania continues to force the world to revolve around me. It is a state of great tension and little to gain. However, the true danger arises when self-loathing turns into resignation. I have not reached this point, but it is one that I must remain cognizant of. To be utterly resigned to one’s condition, be it psychopathy, Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia, or myriad other maladies, is to let that condition define and rule you. It encourages that facet of one’s life to become the only true path and representation of one’s life. It leads to the organically ill to discontinue their medicine by their own volition. But, what of the antisocial?

I live a double life. I live the actions of one showing restraint – as far as others can see, anyway – but in my mind and my private life, I am still deviltouched. I enjoy my perversity within walls that cannot judge me and I present a neurotypical – non-psychopathic in this context – facade to those around me. My tongue and psyche are not in agreement while in the company of others. What I read, think, and consume in my living quarters or on my cell phone are for my eyes and thoughts only. I have separated the antisocial mindset from antisocial behaviors to the extent that I can. I do this because I must if I wish to remain in the good graces of the company that I keep.

That said, the danger of self-loathing because of this forced duality is a complete and total breakdown of the walls I have constructed. If I were to become completely resigned to my condition, then I suspect I would be much more outwardly antisocial – as I was earlier in life – as I would have nothing to lose. In essence I would be the devil that I am painted as and know myself to be, for true resignation equates the psyche with the condition.

So what is the alternative? To love myself. Borderline, Bipolar, psychopath, transgender, and many other labels that I would rather not speak of. It is strange to say that I cherish the hand that I’ve been dealt. I hold no value-judgement toward my psychopathy, for instance, but I also do not enjoy the duality that it mandates. However, this is who I am. I am proud of my ability to thrive in the face of adversity that my condition places upon me via the prison others place me in. I am darkness instead of the light that others demand … and that is something to be celebrated … by me, for me.

I don’t know about self-loathing specifically – I don’t think I’m capable of it, or maybe I don’t know what it means or perhaps it’s a stop on my path of self-discovery that I have yet to pass by – but I’m coming to appreciate with time that I’m the possession of skills that I’ve never wanted to make use of, that I’ve used all my life unaware they were slumbering within me, and that I might some day soon actually want to make use of. It’s this process that seems so very much reversed in me. I grew up thinking the world didn’t make a lot of sense when the problem wasn’t that I was a mouse trying to live with lions: but a lion trying to make friends with gazelles. The moment I realized I was the lion life gradually became more difficult. It doesn’t help that the gazelles happily want to put their hooves into my mouth because they trust me to not bite it off.